ered Brass, who perhaps had his reasons for
wishing to show as fair as possible in the eyes of the notary. 'How do
we stand in point of time, constable, eh?'

The constable, who had been chewing a straw all this while with great
philosophy, replied that if they went away at once they would have time
enough, but that if they stood shilly-shallying there, any longer, they
must go straight to the Mansion House; and finally expressed his
opinion that that was where it was, and that was all about it.

Mr Richard Swiveller having arrived inside the coach, and still
remaining immoveable in the most commodious corner with his face to the
horses, Mr Brass instructed the officer to remove his prisoner, and
declared himself quite ready. Therefore, the constable, still holding
Kit in the same manner, and pushing him on a little before him, so as
to keep him at about three-quarters of an arm's length in advance
(which is the professional mode), thrust him into the vehicle and
followed himself. Miss Sally entered next; and there being now four
inside, Sampson Brass got upon the box, and made the coachman drive on.

Still completely stunned by the sudden and terrible change which had
taken place in his affairs, Kit sat gazing out of the coach window,
almost hoping to see some monstrous phenomenon in the streets which
might give him reason to believe he was in a dream. Alas! Everything
was too real and familiar: the same succession of turnings, the same
houses, the same streams of people running side by side in different
directions upon the pavement, the same bustle of carts and carriages in
the road, the same well-remembered objects in the shop windows: a
regularity in the very noise and hurry which no dream ever mirrored.
Dream-like as the story was, it was true. He stood charged with
robbery; the note had been found upon him, though he was innocent in
thought and deed; and they were carrying him back, a prisoner.

Absorbed in these painful ruminations, thinking with a drooping heart
of his mother and little Jacob, feeling as though even the
consciousness of innocence would be insufficient to support him in the
presence of his friends if they believed him guilty, and sinking in
hope and courage more and more as they drew nearer to the notary's,
poor Kit was looking earnestly out of the window, observant of
nothing,--when all at once, as though it had been conjured up by magic,
he became aware of the face of Quilp.

And wha